


Capture the Wind

by Callmesalticidae, shadow_wasserson



Series: The Gods Have Horns [8]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Gen, Godstuck, Sifu Terezi, Trolls are Gods, harsh lessons, john do the unexpected thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callmesalticidae/pseuds/Callmesalticidae, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_wasserson/pseuds/shadow_wasserson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is John, and you think the religious community is pretty awesome. Church is interesting and people are totally cool and you actually have friends for once!</p><p>Too bad you're supposed to be an atheist.</p><p>Too bad the gods have other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. en prise

The basement of the zodiac church on 8th street is not exactly the fanciest of rooms. Its gray-carpeted floor has been stained and scuffed by hundreds of shoes, it’s lit with fluorescent bulbs that make your head hurt when you stare directly at them, and its shrine is one of those tacky paper rotating ones with the gods’ symbols and sigils and not much else. Really, it’s kind of a pathetic place of worship.

But this is where the church youth group meets, and so the preteens and teenagers of the congregation gather there every Zakhday after school for religious discussion and services.

Your name is John Egbert, and you turned thirteen about a week ago. You’ve been going to these church meetings for several months now, and you love it, tacky paper shrine and everything. You’ve never really had friends, before this. You were always a bit of a weirdo at school, not even a class clown, though you always aspired to be. You’ve endured your share of bullying, but mostly you’re just kind of ignored.

But here? They want you here. They like you here. And you like them.

Unlike the regular daily service, the god in focus at the youth group changes every week. Today’s prayer session is to the Seer of Mind, and they’ve cleared the chairs to make an open space for worship. You don’t think the Seer is your favorite, but you’ve decided you still like her service, since you get to move your body around while you pray. Worshipping the Seer involves a kind of directed, moving meditation, controlling your vital energy and calming your thoughts.

You don’t _have_ to worship the Seer, of course. There’s no rule about it, if you’d prefer to direct your prayers to another god that day. But because most of the others follow the schedule, you do too. It makes you feel like you belong.

Gabe, a junior from the local high school, is leading today’s service. He’s guiding the group as you move clumsily from one pose to another, and occasionally reading excerpts from the prayer book. You can tell some of the other kids have been doing this since they were really little, but you’ve only done it maybe once before, and you’re less than adept. But no one makes fun of you or points out that you’re lifting the wrong hand or your shoulders are too tight or whatever. At least not out loud.

“…and the community came together, and said, ‘we shall cast out the evil men and women from our midst, as we cast the evil thoughts from our head,’ and this was justice, and this was rightness…” Gabe droned on.

You probably shouldn’t be thinking so much, during this service. The point is to _calm_ your thoughts and let them simply flow away. You are… not so great at that.

Still. It’s relaxing. Not all services are. The Knight’s services can be pretty intense, and that’s to say nothing of the Bard’s! You still think that the Page’s are your favorite, even though they have to set up a fan to get any wind down here in the basement.

“…and with clear head and clear eyes, I turn to you, Seer of Mind, for your most worthy of judgments in all the heavens. Amen.”

Gabe closes the book, and rubs one of his eyes with his fist. “Okay everyone, that concludes the worship for today, let’s bring the chairs back, huh?”

You and the other members of the youth group sigh and stretch, and eventually you all manage to get the tables and chairs set back up. Gabe sits at the head of the table and brings out a piece of paper.

“Okay. Today’s discussion topic: why do we pray?” Gabe smiles slightly, and leans forward. “Anyone?”

The discussion, like most of the post-worship discussions, is not particularly conclusive. You don’t have much to add to it, though you do give it a moment of thought. Why _do_ you pray? You don’t have much to ask for. You’re pretty content. You have your friends here in church, and you have Colonel Sassacre back home, and you have your movie collection if you ever get bored. You guess you could _thank_ the gods, or affirm them, or maybe pray on behalf of someone else. You pick at the varnish on the table, half-listening while a freshman girl talks about praying for good grades.

The discussion only lasts about a half hour, and then the meeting is officially over. You often hang around to chat with the other kids, but this time Gabe interrupts before anyone leaves.

“I have a very special announcement,” he says. “The Art Museum in Spokane is opening up a new wing on intergalactic artists in a few weeks, and none other than the Sylph of Space herself will be there to consecrate the opening. And I just so happen to have tickets to the event!”

Wait, you could get to see a goddess? Like, in person? Meet her? Shake her hand? All this religion stuff had seemed pretty ethereal up to now, but the concept of actually meeting a living god in the flesh is bringing the reality of worship crashing down on you. You’re not sure how to feel about this.

Everyone has begun talking at once, chattering to each other excitedly.

“Ok, ok!” calls Gabe, and claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “I know you’re all excited, but space is limited, so we’ll be doing a lottery. All you need to do is get a parent’s or guardian’s signature on one of these waivers…”

Oh. _Oh_.

You won’t be seeing a real goddess. There is no _freaking_ way that your dad will sign one of those. Ha ha.

You take one anyway, because everyone else does, then climb the stairs out of the basement. Once you’re outside, Anna, a girl in your grade, approaches you. “This is so exciting!” she gushes. “I can’t believe it, Spokane is only a few hours away!”

You’ve spoken to Anna a few times before. You know that she goes to private school and likes to sing. “Yeah,” you say. “I will actually be four hours by car away from a goddess.”

She frowns. “Don’t be like that, John! You might win a ticket!”

You shake your head. “There is no way my dad will let me go.”

“You sure? It’s not that far.”

“It’s not that.” You rub the back of your neck, and look away from Anna. “Dad is an atheist. He doesn’t even know I come here.”

Anna stares. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. He never even let me go _trick or treating_. How lame is that? What kind of dad won’t let their kid go out for Hallowhonk?”

Anna blinks in surprise. “Oh gosh, you’re serious. That’s awful!”

You smile. “It’s okay. I really like it here. It’s fun to learn about gods and stuff. Anyway,” you chuckle. “Dad thinks I go to bowling club after school.”

You both share a laugh about that, but Anna still looks like she’s feeling sorry for you. “Look,” she says. “Why don’t you just tell your dad that you’ve found meaning in worship?”

You shake your head. “No way. He wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh,” she says. “That’s too bad.” You both stand there for a moment. Anna looks at her shoes. Then, she smiles. “Well, if he ever changes his mind, you can, you know, come over to my house for Passover, maybe?”

“Dude, that would be awesome,” you say, “But I don’t think that is ever going to happen.”

Anna sighed. “Okay. Wish me luck in the lottery, then?”

“Good luck, Anna,” you say, and she leaves.

On the way home on the bus, you read the waiver. It’s just the usual brouhaha. List food allergies and emergency contacts, no liability in case you wander off and get lost, etc.

Your dad is _so stupid_. This is an opportunity of a lifetime! Not everyone gets to meet the gods. This could be _life changing_ and he’s just…

Well, he’s a hypocrite, for one. Your home has no shrine and you never observe religious holidays or anything, but he collects clowns. Yeah, clowns. If your dad isn’t secretly longing for the Dark Carnival, you’ll eat your glasses.

But still, you’re not going to show him the waiver.  Even if you did, and even if he somehow didn’t ground you for going to church behind his back, and even if he signed it, you probably wouldn’t get picked in the lottery. The whole thing is stupid.

You look out the window of the bus, at the buildings rolling past. Maybe if you pretended the waiver was for something else? Or maybe if you forged his signature? Could you do that?

Maybe you should have used today’s prayer session to ask for guidance. Except, of course, you didn’t know about the field trip then.

You crumple the waiver in your fist, and throw it away.

* * *

You arrive at your house. There was no car in the driveway, which means Dad isn’t home from work yet, which is to be expected. You grab the house key from its hiding place under the light fixture, and walk in.

You freeze in place. There’s someone in the living room, sitting facing away from you, on the couch. It’s not your dad. You can see two horns, bright vibrant orange, sticking out like traffic cones from perfectly cut holes in the intruder’s green hood.

“Hello, John.”

The intruder, who sounds like a woman, does not turn to look at you. Everything you’ve learned about the gods seems to have flown out of your mind. You can’t think straight. This can’t be real. This has to be a prank.

“1T’S NOT 4 PR4NK, JOHN. TH1S 1S FOR R34L.”

Her… her _voice._ It raises goosebumps all along your arms, and makes you see teal on the backs of your eyelids. There is no way that wasn’t a divine voice.

You don’t know what to say. What can you say? What are you supposed to say when you meet a goddess? Your frazzled brain is trying to remember which goddess has the sacred color of teal.

“Um.” You swallow. “Hi.”

“Come here, John,” she says, with a normal, un-colorful voice. “Have a seat.”

You comply, and sit on the reclining chair across from the couch.

She’s just sitting there, wearing the green hood and the robe with her sigil in blue-green: a circle with three curved lines radiating from its edge. Her skin is gray, her hair black. Her hood covers her eyes and she’s not showing her wings, but you’ve figured out whom she is, now that you see the sigil.

The Seer of Mind smiles politely, and flips a coin with one hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, John.” She catches the coin.

“Um,” you say. “Does my dad know you are here?”

Shit, that was a really dumb thing to say.

She smiles, more broadly this time. “I’ve heard dumber.”

Oh gods oh _gods_. She can read your mind.

“And no,” she goes on. “He doesn’t know. Let’s keep it that way, for now.”

She flips the coin again. There is an awkward silence, then you speak.

“So… what can I do for you, Seer of Mind? I don’t entertain gods very often. You want anything to drink? We have uh, coke, and milk… and coffee.”

You’re staring. Stop staring.

The Seer of Mind tilts her head up so you can see her sunglasses, and the red sightless eyes behind them. “Cherry Coke,” she says, and you jump to your feet to get her some.

You run, maybe too fast, to the kitchen. You can’t believe this. This is crazy and intense and way too weird. It’s like meeting Nick Cage, but even more so. They’ll never believe you in church.

You quickly grab a can of cherry coke and run back to the living room, realizing too late that you probably should have offered ice, too. Shoot.

You give the goddess her coke. Instead of opening it with the tab, she rips a hole straight through the metal with her teeth.

You freeze. You’re not going to lie, that was pretty badass. And terrifying.

She drinks for several seconds while you just stand there, then says; “Don't worry about stocking up on the Coke. I'll bring my own next time."

Did she just imply what you think she did? “Next time?” you ask.

She smiles, sharp teeth like a shark. “You sound like you're not looking forward to it. Don't you like me?"

Oh. Shit. “Uh, not to be ungrateful, Lady Justice. I guess I am just a little nervous. How can I help you?”

She flips her coin and catches it with one hand, still sipping on the coke with the other.

“Everyone starts getting weekly visits from their favorite deity when they turn thirteen, didn’t you know?”

Your mouth falls open. They didn’t tell you that, but-

“You are joking with me,” you say. “That definitely does not happen at all.”

The goddess frowns, and a chill goes up your spine. “Are you implying that a goddess would lie to you?” she says. “Have a little shame, John Egbert.”

You hold up your hands defensively. “No! No, no, that’s not what I meant! Joking is not the same as lying, because everyone knows when you are joking. Or, they find out really soon.”

“So, in that case, let us consider the evidence, John,” says the Seer, once again showing fangs. “If I am not here as a matter of course, why would I be here? In your house? Just for you?”

And before you answer, she goes on; “It’s not to dispense parental permission slips, I can assure you.”

Well, you weren’t going to ask for that. You wanted to meet a goddess and here she is, so maybe she’s here to answer your prayers that way? Or maybe…

“I didn’t pray or anything during worship today,” you confess. “Are you angry because of that?”

“Yes, John,” she replies. “I personally make it my business to punish those who are too lazy to pray. It is clearly the best use of my time.”

You chuckle nervously. You think maybe you’re starting to get a handle on the goddess’ sense of humor. “Okay, I guess I’m lost, then. I give up. Why are you here?”

The Seer flips the coin and catches it. “There are several ways I can answer that question. There is a god in your house because you are very special. _I_ am in your house also because you are very special. But these are two different kinds of special. Put another way, some of us gods are interested in you, John, because you have a grand destiny before you. And, being interested, we want to make sure you don’t fuck it up. But me? I’m here because I think you’re _fascinating_.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. What? There has to be a mistake here.

The Seer continues, flipping the coin again. “John, there have been a few times, in the past thirteen years, when you have surprised me. These times are few and far between, but they exist. I know you don’t have any real appreciation of what that means, but let me say it again: I cannot predict your actions one hundred percent of the time. And, destiny aside, that makes you a very interesting person.”

You swallow. This is totally crazy, but also kind of awesome. “Well,” you say, after taking a few minutes to absorb the Seer’s words. “I was not expecting to be told that I had a grand destiny when I woke up this morning.”

She nods in acknowledgment.

“So…” You trail off. “What is it? Am I going to be the best comedian in the galaxy?”

“Just one galaxy?” she says, arching an eyebrow. “That’s as far as you’ll let your dreams take you?”

 You rub the back of your neck. You can’t seem to say anything right in this conversation. “I have never been off world,” you venture as an excuse.

The Seer catches her coin. “Let me put it like this. If you do what you're supposed to, then an entire universe might regard you as the greatest comedic genius to ever live. In fact, and I'm not exaggerating, you may even go so far as to define comedy from that point on.”

“What?” That doesn’t make any sense to you. “Are you joking? You’re sure it’s me? Because I do not know if you have ever listened to Bill Cosby, but he is pretty definitive on the comedy scene-” No, stop. You sound like an idiot.

The Seer’s voice is low and quiet. “Future generations will only know of Bill Cosby because you tell them about him.”

You blink. People will forget about Bill Cosby? You’re not sure how to feel about that.

“Are you beginning to grasp the weight of your destiny?” the Seer asks.

You steeple your fingers and look at them. “Maybe? I guess I am still kind of getting used to the fact that the Seer of Mind is in my living room, heh...”

“Well get used to it, John Egbert!” The goddess stands up abruptly, and whoa, she’s tall. She steps close, way too close, and then you’re looking directly into her face, the divine gray skin and the red eyes. When she speaks, you can feel the goddess’ breath on your skin. “You’re going to be seeing a whole lot more of me.”

Okay, this is an invasion of your personal space. You swallow. “Oh. Gosh. I’m honored.”

She’s still too close. “You haven’t asked about the catch, John. I didn’t expect you to, but you really should.”

Oh. “What’s the catch?”

She smiles again, her teeth mere inches from your nose. “You are not to pray to any of the other gods, under any circumstances. You will not write about them, nor will you speak their names and titles.”

Oh. Shit. You won’t be able to go to church, then. You won’t be able to see your friends. You’ll have to tell them somehow, but if you can’t TELL them…

“I do not require that you pray to me,” the Seer goes on. “I just need to know if, despite your unpredictability, you can follow instructions and keep secrets.”

 “Wait,” you start, but the Seer interrupts.

“There is another option, of course.” She steps back, giving you back your personal space, and flips her coin. “I can leave, and we can pretend this never happened. We never met. We’ll never meet again.” She smiles, this time without showing teeth. “I know what you're going to say, of course. But that doesn’t mean it’s not your choice.”

You blink. She’s giving you a choice? I mean, she IS a goddess, and it would really not be a smart thing to say no.

“Well,” you say. “I think this is just about the most amazing thing that's ever happened, I just, wow, I feel like I'm about to be punk’d or something, or like I'm dreaming. I’m not dreaming though, there is no way I would dream up something like this.”

The Seer just waits for you, and you take a deep breath. “Okay, I will do it. If it’s my destiny or whatever.”

She smiles. “Then just remember. This was your choice, John.”

You swallow. That sounds really ominous. Did you make the wrong choice?

The Seer turns, and opens the door to the outside. Then, without looking at you, she says, “Also, do think about how you're going to explain this to your father.”

“Huh?” You are very confused now. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to tell him about this?”

She shakes her head, still facing away. “No, but you're going to do a terrible job of keeping this a secret from him. He's smarter than you think he is.” She moves a hand up to adjust her hood. “You have four months, one week, and three days before he confronts you.”

And then, before you can reply, teal butterfly wings unfurl from her shoulders, much wider than the doorway. She steps outside, and is gone in the space of blinking.

You stare at the empty doorway for several long moments before you realize you forgot to ask her for an autograph.


	2. Prophylaxis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terezi's training methods may warrant a TW: Abuse. Your mileage may vary.

The next week, you meet the Seer again. You’ve taken the bus home from school, skipping the weekly church group. You open your door, and there she is, smiling at you from the couch.

“Good afternoon, John,” she says. “Come have a seat.”

“Oh, hi,” you reply. “You came back.”

She smiles, and lifts a can of cherry coke in the air, as if toasting. You walk over to sit on the reclining chair, and you both sit there for several long moments, her sipping a coke and occasionally flipping a coin, and you twiddling your thumbs.

“So-” you start to speak, but she interrupts.

“John, you have never had any martial training, correct? Of course correct. The reason I’m here today is to address this lamentable gap in your education.”

You blink. “Martial training? You mean martial arts? Fighting?”

“Yes, John, that is what I mean.”

Your eyes widen. “You mean like The Karate Kid? That’s so sweet, so you’re going to be like Mr. Miyagi to my Ralph Macchio?”

“Like that, except real.” The goddess stands up and makes a motion that you can’t quite make out, and then there is a large duffel bag in her arms. It looks like something you could get at REI.

She puts it down and unzips it, and you can see gleaming metal.

Oh shit. That’s a gun.

“Because you have absolutely zero previous experience, I have selected a variety of possible weapons for you to take up.” She removes the gun and lays it down on the floor, then takes out an axe. “Of course, I know what you are going to choose. But the impression of free will is important.” She takes out a chainsaw, then a long knife and a heavy, spiked mace, laying each one next to the other. “But keep in mind: you can only choose one. Just pick a weapon up, and it will be yours.”

You’re staring. “You want me to choose? But how do I know which would be best for me? Maybe I should try out a few first, to see what fits?”

“No, John. That’s not how it works.” She removes a crossbow, then straightens up and steps back. “Now, choose wisely.”

You stare down at the assortment of deadly armaments. She said she already knew which one you’re going to choose, so why is she doing this? But she also said last time that you sometimes did unexpected things, so…

“Okay,” you say, after thinking a moment. “So whatever I pick up will be my weapon forever?”

The Seer smiles. “Yes, that is correct.”

You look at the vicious implements spread out on the floor, and then your eyes wander over to your dad’s toolkit. He must have left it out, after hanging up the latest clown painting. You take a step towards it. When the Seer doesn’t stop you, you close the distance and, with a broad grin, pluck the hammer out from the box.

You hold it up proudly at the Seer. “Ta da! There! I followed your instructions! You were not expecting _that_ , huh?”

The Seer’s expression is impassive. “Very well, you have chosen your weapon.” She nonchalantly kicks the weapons on the floor away, clearing a space. Then, she makes that… _motion_ again, and there is a long, tapering, wooden cane in her hand. “Time to see if you can use it.”

* * *

That night, you retire to your room early, avoiding your father’s questions and nursing the bruises on your back and sides. When you sit down at your computer, you wince.

That _really_ smarts.

 _Land a hit on me_ , she’d said. Land a hit! As if you could ever do that, when she knows what you’re thinking of doing before you do it! By the end of the hour, you were absolutely sure that the Seer was attempting to sign her name onto your skin in bruises. Being taught martial arts by an ancient goddess isn’t nearly as awesome or non-painful as you would have expected.

You have a message on Pesterchum. It’s Anna.

\-- harmoniusDithering [HD] began pestering ghostlyTrickster [GT] at 17:34 --

HD: sorry that you missed today's meeting, hope you're feeling well!

HD: and that you’re not sick or anything

HD: we held the lottery today. I got a ticket! I’ll see if I can get the Sylph to autograph something for you.

HD: you like movies, right? I don’t have any movie posters, but if you bring me one at the next meeting I’ll see if she will autograph that!

HD: anyway I’ll see you next week. Take care.

You look at the messages for a long time, thinking of what to say.

\-- ghostlyTrickster [GT] began pestering harmoniusDithering [HD] at 20:11 --

GT: i am sorry, but i can’t come to the youth group meetings anymore

GT: i told my dad about it and he said i can’t go at all

GT: i am grounded for life or something

You don’t feel good about this. This isn’t a joke. This is lying, to a friend, and you feel terrible.

She replies a few minutes later.

HD: oh that’s terrible! I’m so sorry! Your dad is a jerk!

HD: you should call social services on him or something.

HD: I don’t know. I guess this isn’t illegal. But it’s so unfair.

HD: I can’t believe he’d do that.

GT: yes it is basically dumb and lame

GT: i am not happy about it

HD: Well I’m angry about it!

GT: you don’t have to be angry

GT: he is my stupid dad

GT: i guess i will figure it out

GT: have a good time at the museum, i hope you meet lots of rad people

You sign off. You don’t like this at all, it makes you feel like you’re in the wrong. But you can’t be in the wrong if you’re doing what a goddess is telling you to do, right? Isn’t that kind of the definition of right and wrong?

You don’t know.

Bruises aching, you go to bed.

* * *

Next week, while practice-strifing in the living room, the Seer smacks your hand with her cane, and the hammer goes flying. You hear a crash, and you turn in horror to see pottery shards and Nanna’s ashes all over the mantelpiece and floor.

“Oh shit,” you say, and glance back at the goddess.

“John,” she says, and raises her cane. “Don’t turn your back on your opponent.”

“No, wait! Just wait,” you say. “Those are my Nanna’s ashes, I can’t just leave them there while we strife.”

And to your surprise, she gives you a moment to get a dustpan and a broom and sweep up the ashes. Not knowing where else to put them, you get a mixing bowl from the kitchen and dump them in. “Augh,” you say. “How am I gonna explain this to my dad?”

The goddess takes a coin from nowhere and flips it. “You need to come clean and take responsibility.”

“But-”

“That is what is just, John. And if your father punishes you, that is also just.”

 _But it’s your fault, kind of,_ is what you want to say, but you don’t. You look at the bowl of ashes and pottery shards in your hands.

“John," she says again. “Learn from your mistakes. What have you learned?”

“Don’t strife inside the house?”

She smiles, and smacks her cane into her palm. “That, and protect your grip.”

* * *

“Son, I am disappointed in you.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. “It was an accident.” You do not look your father in the face.

He sighs and adjusts his hat. “Sit and talk with me for a moment, Son.”

Oh gods, not a _talk._

You sit, and your father leans forward. “Is everything alright at school, Son?”

That’s not what you expected. “Huh? It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You haven’t been getting into fights?”

You shoot a fearful glance in his direction. It hasn’t even been a month, this can’t be the reveal that the Seer mentioned…

“No.”

“Son,” your father puts a very patriarchal hand on your shoulder, and you’re bruised there so you try not to wince. “What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, that was an accident,” you say, looking down at the swelling across your knuckles. Your dad would not be okay with ‘a living goddess hit me with a cane’ on several different levels.

You decide to go on the offensive. “It’s none of your business anyway, Dad. I’m fine.”

“Son, I only have your best interests at heart. You know that.”

“You don’t know what my best interests are! For, for all you know, I have some sort of grand destiny that’s completely different from what you think I should be!”

“Don’t give me that talkback, Son,” there is an edge to your father’s voice now. “I can see you’ve been having a hard time lately, but don’t take it out on your old man!”

“You don’t see anything! You don’t know anything!” Your voice is rising high above your regular indoor volume. Your gambit at pretending to be angry has backfired, and you actually are angry now.

Your dad shakes his head. “I know some things, Son. Like the fact that you don’t actually go to bowling club after school.”

Your mouth goes dry, and you look away. “I- I quit.”

“Do you need more extracurriculars, Son? I think piano lessons might not be enough.”

“Augh, gods, I can’t believe this!” you exclaim, and immediately regret it.

“Language, John,” says your father, his voice low.

“Sorry, Dad, I’m fine,” you say, trying to calm down. You remember the breathing exercises you did in the youth group, and try to emulate those without the prayer part.

“Son,” your father uses his patriarchal hand again. “I think more extracurricular activities would you do some good. Keep you out of trouble.” You are about to object, but he goes on. “There are lots of good options, why don’t you look into it? Is there something you’d like to learn to do?”

“I’ll think about it,” you mumble.

“Good,” he continues. “Your chore load will also double for the next month.”

“Dad!”

He gives your shoulder a patriarchal squeeze, and you really do flinch this time. “You’ll survive, Son. What doesn’t kill you makes you a stronger man.”

You are not so sure you agree.

* * *

HD: and you won’t believe it, but this high school guy was totally flirting with me.

HD: I mean it.

HD: he was like sixteen or something

HD: so awkward.

GT: ok

HD: I dunno though, maybe I should have gone out with him?

HD: he was kind of cute

GT: ok

HD: or maybe I should have painted my face green and done the hokey pokey

GT: ok

HD: are you okay, john?

GT: huh?

GT: i am fine.

GT: if you had to learn some totally new skill, what would it be?

HD: inuit throat singing

GT: ha ha ha what?

HD: no it’s amazing.

HD: the inuit people can sing with like, their throats.

GT: what else would you sing with?

HD: oh shut up

HD: i mean like, with their throat and their mouth separately. Two tones at once!

HD: isn’t that just amazing? I wish I could do that.

HD: well

HD: either that or something useful. Like computer programming.

GT: those are two very different things.

HD: so? People are allowed to have diverse interests.

GT: i guess so

* * *

“I would like to take a computer programming class,” you tell your dad. “And karate.”

* * *

The Seer of Mind cracks you over the back with her cane. You sprawl onto your belly on the ground, but manage to roll away before the second blow comes. You could swear the canes she uses are slightly harder and heavier each time. Thank goodness she never goes for your head.

The cane’s coming again, and you try to swipe with your hammer, but it’s really too short. Her cane has a longer reach, and she can knock you four ways to Saturn before you’re close enough to even poke her with the hammer.

So she goes and knocks you four ways to Saturn, and while you’re gasping for air she flips you onto your back and points the tip of the cane at your throat.

“You’re dead again.”

“Augh,” you respond. “Can’t you use a shorter cane?”

“Your enemies will not use shorter canes just because you want them to, John.”

You sit up and push the cane away. “What enemies? I don’t have enemies!”

“John,” she says, her voice dead serious. “You have enemies you don’t even know about.”

You get to your feet. “Who, then?”

Her face is inscrutable. “You’ll know them when you see them.”

“Augh, this is so frustrating!” You are on the verge of tearing your hair out. She’s the Seer, she knows everything, so why isn’t she telling you anything? “I don’t even know what my ‘Grand Destiny’ is! You said I was going to save comedy, but all you do is strife with me!”

“John.” Her voice is incredibly condescending. “This is all an important part of your training.”

“But what am I training _for?_ ”

“You are training for your destiny, John. You will need these skills I am teaching you, in order to succeed.”

“What, ‘how to get beaten up 101’?”

She nods. “Endurance in the face of pain and damage will serve you well.”

You really want to know what you’ll be doing that requires you to be beat up so much, but then the Seer is swinging her cane at you again, and you have to pick up the hammer to block before she thwacks you in the stomach again.

“You must become hard and unyielding,” she says, and takes another swipe. “When I am through with you, John, you will be like _steel_.”

You have no idea what that means, but it sounds cool.

* * *

At school, in the gym’s locker room, the other boys notice your bruises. They whisper and gossip at the cane marks across your back and sides.

You’re a freak.

* * *

\-- harmoniusDithering [HD] began pestering ghostlyTrickster [GT] at 18:54 --

HD: hey! I haven’t heard from you in a while!

HD: i thought you would ask about the museum.

HD: because that is a thing that happened.

HD: it was pretty awesome.

HD: they didn’t have any movie posters for sale.

HD: but I did think of you.

GT: what do you mean?

HD: what do you think I mean? :)

GT: i do not know what you are talking about

HD: you can be really thick sometimes

GT: that’s what she said!

HD: that is not a proper thing to say to a lady

GT: bluh

HD: kidding!

HD: so are you still grounded?

HD: John?

\-- ghostlyTrickster [GT] has signed off --

* * *

It’s been a month now, and you think maybe you’re getting better. That you can maybe go 30 seconds now without getting whacked by the cane. You want to think it’s the karate lessons, but all your fellow students are like, eight, so you’re not exactly a karate master at this point.

The Seer has been coming more often, three times a week now at least. But at least her “lessons” are relatively short in duration.

“John,” she says, and her cane disappears into wherever the objects she carries always go. “Let’s take a break.”

You put down the hammer with a sigh of relief, then quickly shoot a look in the Seer’s direction to see if she heard you. But, of course she heard you.

She’s sitting down, and you wonder for a moment if you’re going to meditate, the way you did in Church. But instead, she takes out a chessboard.

“You know this game, John.” It’s not a question. “Play it with me.”

It’s less painful than the strife, but just as humiliating. She trounces you, then again and again. Of course she does. _She can read your mind_. This whole thing is an exercise in futility.

“Are you trying to teach me to give up?” You gripe, after the fifth defeat in a row. “This is not exactly great for my self-confidence.”

“You must learn to lose, and learn to win,” she says. “Learn when you are outclassed, and when you can turn your situation into an advantage.”

Seer alternates your lessons between strifing and chess, and beats you every time. You play white. She plays black. After a few games, though, the playing can get… weird. The Seer seems to think that the pieces have their own personalities and motivations. She even names them.

“Watch out for the Black King, John. He is more powerful than you might think.”

“Take shelter in the castle, sure. But that rook is going to turn on you if you’re not careful.”

“This pawn is Jack. Don’t let him, or his allies, take your queen.”

The Seer changes the board up, when you play. Sometimes you play with nothing but queens and pawns, sometimes with nothing but rooks and knights. She sets up the board in specific arrangements, ahead of time, and makes you play.

“You can win,” she says. “But you must make no mistakes.”

You don’t know anything about chess. You look up strategies online. You still lose.

You can’t strategize, you can’t plan. So you move your pieces erratically, and lose every time.

* * *

One day, two months after meeting the Seer, you get a package in the mail. For you. You never get packages, unless you order something online. You don’t recognize the return address, but your name is on it. Handwritten.

It’s a long, skinny tube. Maybe has a golf club in it or something. Maybe. You wouldn’t put it past your dad, getting you a golf club even though you don’t play golf.

You open the tube, and there’s a paper roll. A poster. As you unroll it, you can see it’s some kind of abstract artsy print, with streaks of red and yellow paint over light brown. On the bottom, white text reads “Northwest Museum of Art and Culture.” You can only imagine that it’s some kind of famous piece, but you don’t recognize it.

And as you finish unrolling, you see in the upper corner, written in jade green ink:

To John

\- Kanaya Maryam

The Sylph of Space. You have the autograph of the Sylph of Space. Her true name and everything.

There’s a letter.

Dear John,

Surprise! Sorry it’s not a movie poster, they only had art prints for sale in the museum gift shop. This piece is called “Welcome to Denmother,” and it’s by an Enfleífrit artist from the Norma Arm of the Milky Way. I have no idea what it’s supposed to represent, but it’s supposed to be a really important piece in Enfleífrit culture? Like the Mona Lisa or something. Go figure. There’s more info about the picture on the back of the poster.

And I’m sure you’ve seen the signature already! She was really nice, said “what’s your friend’s name” and signed it! There were like a BAZILLION people, I was waiting in line for hours!

Did you know the Sylph really does glow? You can’t see it so clearly in the daytime, but it makes Her shadows very weird.

Anyway, I hope you get un-grounded soon. I miss you seeing you in person! Let me know, and maybe we can hang out sometime? Like, not in church, I mean.

Best wishes, and gods bless!

-Anna

Aw, crap.

You can’t keep this. If your dad found out, he’d FREAK. And if the Seer found it? She’d freak too. You have to throw it away.

It’ll be easy, just go up to the trash can and throw it out.

Just go.

John. Go.

You don’t go. You can’t. You look at the letter again.

Everyone else in the youth group forgot about you, but Anna still cares. Even though you barely talk to her anymore. You have a friend. You can’t just throw that away.

You don’t hang up the poster, but you don’t throw it away, either. You fold it up and tuck it, with the letter, under your mattress. It’s a perfect hiding place. No one will ever find it.

* * *

The Seer doesn’t mention posters or Sylphs. You don’t bring it up. Why bother? She must already know. She has to know. She knows when you think about it. You’re thinking about it. Stop thinking about it!

“John,” she says, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Checkmate.”


	3. Kriegspiel

“Check,” you say. And then, you pause. Because it’s not just a check. “Wait. Check… _mate_.”

You can’t believe it. “No way,” you say.

The Seer is all grins and teeth. “Yes, way. All of the ways.”

There is no fanfare. She simply resets the board, into a new setup. “Again.”

This time, you lose again (of course you do). She takes your white king, and flicks it off the board like she would one of her ever-present coins. You sigh, and get ready to reset the board. 

“John. It’s your move.”

You blink at her. “You took my king.”

She smiles. “The _white_ king. When the white king dies, the game doesn’t end. It begins.”

And she takes a set of blue pieces out of that nowhere space where she keeps everything. They don’t look like any chess pieces you’ve ever seen, and she sets them up in an unusual configuration.

“John. Move.”

Your new pieces move strangely. They teleport, they revive, they control the opponent’s pieces. You are not even sure you’re controlling them completely. “What is this?”

The Seer just keeps grinning. “Negeian 5th dimensional psion-chess. Much more fun than the human version.”

The board changes. It becomes three dimensional, spins into odd shapes, tesseracts, and you can’t quite make sense of what’s happening. “I don’t think I can play this.”

“Try.”

You try, but the board looks like something Escher would build in his spare time. “I can’t.”

“Do it anyway.”

“Look, Lady Justice, maybe you can do this kind of thing, but I’m only- I’m a kid! I’m a human, I can’t play chess in five dimensions!”

“Are you sure, John Egbert?”

“Yes, I’m sure I can’t-”

“Are you sure that you’re human?”

You stop, at that. Your mouth goes dry.                                           

“Well… well yeah, I-”

“You might want to think, John, about what is holding you back.” And the Seer packs up her chess, all five dimensions of it. And she leaves.

* * *

 

Your dad ruins everything.

Why did he have to clean your room? Make your bed? You can do that yourself, you’re thirteen for godssakes!

When you return home from your after-school coding class, your poster, your poster signed by the goddess of Space, is lying on the kitchen counter, open for the whole world to see. There is a note attached.

_Son,_

_When I get home, we will Talk._

Shit shit SHIT. He found the poster. _He_ _found the poster_

You are so dead. Should you destroy the evidence? No, it’s too late for that.

Maybe you should run away. No, that’s stupid, where would you go? Anna’s? The Church? That idea is stupid, as stupid as like, squawking like an imbecile and shitting on your desk, and you are not going to do that.

You pace back and forth, trying to think what you are going to say. You don’t know what to do or who to confide in.

Anna can’t help you. The Seer probably won’t, since even though YOU didn’t write the name or ever speak it aloud, you’re pretty sure keeping the autograph of another god in the house breaks her rules.

But… she never got mad about it. And she must have known, right?

You decide to risk it. You sit on the floor in a meditative position, take a deep breath, and say aloud: “…Hey, Seer of Mind? I know I don’t usually ask you for anything, but… my dad found a poster with the name of the S- the Godmother on it. Do you have any advice?”

You wait for a while. Nothing. The house is empty and silent.

Then, your computer, from upstairs, makes the faint _beep_ can only mean you’re being IM’d.

Anna?

You go upstairs and look at the screen. The chum-handle is unfamiliar.

\-- gallowsCalibrator [GC] began pestering ghostlyTrickster [GT] at 17:43 --

GC: JOHN, YOU H4V3 TO T4K3 R3SPONS1B1L1TY FOR YOUR OWN 4CT1ONS.

GC: TRY TO T4K3 TH1S 4S 4NOTH3R L3SSON.

GC: JUST L1K3 4LL TH3 OTH3RS.

GT: wait

GT: are you the seer?

GT: you use pesterchum?

GT: this is very strange

GC: 1 US3 WH4T3V3R 1 N33D TO US3

GC: 1T’S T1M3 TO ST4ND UP FOR YOURS3LF, JOHN.

GC: YOUR F4TH3R 1S HOM3.

GC: DO YOU HAV3 WH4T IT T4K3S TO F4C3 H1M?

You can’t believe this. You can hear your dad’s car pull into the driveway.

This is what, another test for you to fail? Another opportunity to get beaten up? Did she ignore the poster just so that your dad would find it later?

 _Another lesson, just like all the others._ Sure, another lesson in _pain_ and _bullshit._

You are sick of this. You are so, so sick of this.

You hear the door downstairs open, then close. You don’t want to do this, so you delay the inevitable by straightening your bookshelf and re-sorting your DVD collection.

It’s six thirty by the time you head downstairs, every step feeling like you’re ascending a gallows. Gods, you really don’t want to do this.

Your dad is sitting at the table, next to the incriminating poster, reading a newspaper and smoking his pipe. You know it has to be bad, when he’s smoking.

“Son,” he says, not looking up from the paper. “Have a seat.”

You sit, and he slowly, methodically folds up the newspaper, still puffing on the pipe. The sitting and waiting is like torture. Like that Chinese torture thing where they drip water on your head. You stare fixedly at your knees.

“Son,” he says again. “I know it can be hard, to be different from the other kids. And it can feel like no one understands.”

That was not what you expected your dad to say. You expected him to berate you about the poster.

“I know that there are some kids who will pick out anything that makes a person different from the crowd,” your dad continues. “And atheism makes you very different.” He sighs. “I wish you had come to me about this.”

You realize that your dad is giving you a very convenient excuse.

Your dad leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I do not want you to be pressured into being something that you're not.”

You decide to take the proffered ‘out.’

“Oh,” you grunt. “Okay. Sure.”

Your dad taps the poster with his index finger. “Son,” he says, but you interrupt him.

“I didn’t ask for the poster, Dad! It was a gift. I didn’t ask for it.”

Your dad smiles thinly. “At least now I’m getting more out of you than monosyllables.”

You lapse back into a sullen silence.

“It’s not the poster, Son. It’s the letter that was with it.”

You blanch. _Shit_. You didn’t even think of that.

“It seems to be implying that you’ve gone to church, and that you are grounded. Which is not, currently, the case.”

You try to breathe deeply. Calm your thoughts. Calm down and lie through your buck teeth.

“I didn't go to church, but she wanted me to go to church... I mean, I might have gone once or something, but I had to make an excuse not to. I had to not go, so I said I was grounded.” You try to look your dad in the eye as you speak.

“Son, you just gave me two different stories about church in as many seconds.”

Wow, you’re just digging this hole deeper for yourself, aren’t you?

Your father shrugs. “She sounds like a good friend. If she really is, then she will understand that you just don't believe, and it won't matter.” There is a pause, during which time you say nothing. “You should tell her the truth. If she cares, then I don't think that she is really such a good friend.”

You count back the weeks. It’s been exactly four months and one week and three days since you first spoke to the Seer. Your dad is going to find out. You don’t want him to find out. You want deeply to prove that the Seer can be wrong, that you’re not as pathetically bad at keeping secrets as she thinks.

Your Dad is still waiting for you to respond. “She is a good friend, Dad. I did not ask for the poster. She... she went to this event and I guess she thought it would be a nice thing to do, that's all.”

“Be that as it may. I think that you should tell her, but that is your decision to make.” Your dad takes a long drag on his pipe. “But there is something else we need to talk about. They did not stop beating you up, did they? The bullies from school?”

“No,” you mumble. “School was fine.”

“Your old man isn't blind, Son. I know what a bruise looks like.”

You sink into your chair. “I can handle it.”

Your dad fixes you with a very Stern Fatherly Look, and you sink down even lower, trying to disappear.

“How many months has it been? I should have spoken to you sooner.” He reaches across the table to put a Solid Patriarchal Hand on your shoulder. “Son, it is okay to admit that you need help. Real men know when the situation is too big to handle. It is _not_ a sign of weakness. Do you understand me?”

Your dad still has no clue. But you don’t want him to think that you’re being beaten up, when you’re not, not really. You suddenly have an idea.

“It’s not like that,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s not bullying. It’s like, you know Fight Club? It's kind of like that. Only without the anti-government conspiracy and the multiple personality stuff. And I don't have a Brad Pitt. I'm just learning how to defend myself and stuff. I am getting tougher! It's not too big to handle. I am fine. I do not need help.”

Your dad gives you a Stern Fatherly Look, and you realize that he doesn’t buy it.

“Son, we are not leaving this table until you tell me the truth. I have already left this alone for too long.”

The truth? Well… what if you tell a partial truth? "Okay so there's this... girl. And she is really religious, and she thinks that she will help me find the gods if she teaches me how to fight and stuff. Martial arts."

Your dad sighs. “Do not tell me that my son thinks that he has to be beaten up to catch a girl's eye.”

Your eyes practically bulge out of your head. Does he think you feel that way about the _Seer?_ “No!” you shout. “It’s not like that. I don’t like, _like_ her. And I do not think she likes me either. At all, really.”

Your dad raises an eyebrow. “Well, at least I understand why you went to church, now.” Your dad sighs. “I do not even want to know which gods this girl favors. If my son likes a girl that beats him up and calls it a devotion, then... well, I may have to live with it. But you, Son, should not have to pretend that you are something that you’re not.”

“What? No, I’m not talking about Anna! Two different people.” This is _mortifying_. “And anyway, I don’t _like_ them! I mean, I like Anna, but as a friend!”

“I see,” says your father. “There is this one girl that you like enough to go to church for, and then there is this other, completely different, girl who you are willing to get beaten up by.”

“Yes, that is what is happening!” You are getting angry, now.

Your dad sighs and closes his eyes. “I am unsure whether to be proud or annoyed that my son is such a poor liar.” He leans forward, and takes another puff on his pipe. “You need to come clean with this girl, whether there is one of her or two. You are an atheist. If they really care about you then they will accept that.”

It’s then that you give up. You can’t do this anymore. _You win, Seer. Whoop de doo._

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, and say, very quietly, “I’m not.”

Your dad pauses mid-puff. “Excuse me?”

You have to be brave. You have to stand up for yourself. You twist your fingers into the fabric of your shirt, and say more clearly; “I’m not an atheist.”

Your father takes his pipe out of his mouth, and lays it on the table. He looks grave. “You do not know what the gods are like, John. I am trying to protect you. Religion is dangerous, and you should stay away from it. I do not want to see you get hurt.”

This isn’t making any sense. “But Dad, it's not like pretending that the gods are not important makes them not exist. If they're dangerous, shouldn't we pay them respect? I mean, not make them mad, but just... you know, be _normal_ about it? I mean, a lot of people are religious, Dad! Like, _everyone!_ The only atheist I know is you!”

Very suddenly, your father slams his fist into the table, making you jump. “We are not like other people!” Then, he abruptly slumps, and seems to try and compose himself. “I am sorry. I am not angry with you, John. I am scared.”

That takes you by surprise. You did not expect him to say that. “Dad? What are you talking about?”

Your dad looks haunted. “John, when you were an infant…” He swallows. “When you were an infant, I received a visit from the Flaming-Eyed God.”

And your dad tells you. About the warning, the _threat_ , the gods made on your life. About how they told him not to pray. You recall the Seer saying something similar.

“John, the Flaming-Eyed God told me that the other gods would do anything to keep you from doing… whatever it was they did not want to see happen. Do you understand what ‘anything’ means?”

You don’t want to hear this. “Yeah, but... I mean, what if some of the gods are protecting me from the others? Like the Flaming Eyed God, and the Calibrator of Gallows? I mean, I... I didn't know about any of this. But if I have this destiny or whatever, shouldn't I do what I can to like, fulfill it?”

“John.” Your father sounds incredulous. “We are talking about the living gods. If they wanted to kill you, you would be dead before you could blink.”

You grimace, and he continues. “The gods don’t mind atheists. We don’t draw their attention. They only hear you when- John, if you have been praying…”

You don’t say anything, but you know your guilt is written all over your face. You stare at the table, but can feel your dad’s eyes boring into you.

“John,” he says. “What have you said while you were praying?” You look up at your dad. He looks pained, like someone just stomped on his foot.

“Not much,” you say. “I usually couldn’t think of anything to pray about, really…”

He sighs. “Thank goodness.”

“But Dad…” You’ve made up your mind. “You’re wrong, kind of. About gods and atheists.”

“What do you mean?”

You interlock your fingers and look back at the table. “The gods _do_ pay attention to atheists.”

You see your dad’s eyes widen. “John, have they spoken to you?”

Your stupid dad. You don’t look at him. “Yeah.” And then, because that doesn’t feel like enough: “I’m sorry. She told me not to tell you.”

“She…” Your dad’s voice is hollow, his expression fearful. You hate it. You hate seeing your father looking so frightened.

“Lady Justice,” you clarify. “She said she’d be training me for some kind of destiny, or something.”

Your father closes his eyes, and rests his forehead in one of his hands. When he speaks, his voice is breaking. You hate the sound of it. “I am sorry, John. I am so sorry. I should have told you sooner.”

Several long minutes pass in silence. This is _so_ uncomfortable. “Dad…”

Then, your father looks up, and gets to his feet. There is something steely in his expression, something that wasn’t there before. “Son. Pack your things. We’re leaving.”

“What?”

“No questions, John.” His tone books no room for disobedience. “Do it.”

You have never seen your father like this before. It’s kind of scary.

So you get up, and pack your things. You don’t know how much to pack, but you figure a few days’ worth of clothes is fine. By the time you finish and come back downstairs, your father has already packed his own possessions into the car.

“How long will we be gone for?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he answers, and you worry a little that you didn’t pack enough.

Before you both drive off, you grab Anna’s letter. You don’t know how long you’ll be gone for, and you won’t have your computer. Maybe you can snail-mail her? Now that the proverbial cat is out of its bag, maybe you can even tell her the truth.


	4. Zugzwang

You are on the road all night.

You watch the lit signs along the road pass by, the lights of the cars flashing red and white. It’s mid Leo and the night is warm and clear. You wonder where you’re going, but don’t want to ask your dad. You’re kind of angry at him. He’s trying to run away from the Seer, and he thinks you’re in danger. But you prayed a lot when you were still going to church and nothing bad ever happened. Your dad is full of shit, and you sit sullenly in the passenger seat, marinating in your resentment.

Your dad doesn’t talk much, and you fall asleep around 2am slumped over a duffel bag. Your sleep is troubled, but you don’t remember your dreams.

In the morning, you are in Canada.

* * *

Your dad pulls into the lot of an economy-size motel, and buys a room. You are exhausted and unhappy and have no trace of empathy for your dad. So what if he drove all night? He _chose_ to do that. Today is Vantasday, you were supposed to go to karate! You don’t even have a permission slip or anything.

You pick up a set of keycards with the receptionist, and drag your duffel and your dad’s suitcases to the second floor. As your dad fiddles with the key card, you pretend to be interested in the floral patterns on the walls. You are pretty sure the receptionist said the room only had one bed. This is going to suck.

When the door opens, the Seer is inside the room.

She has obviously dressed to impress. Her cape is billowing (did she set up a _fan?_ ), and she has sigils of Mind blazoned not just on her chest but down the sides of her leggings and on bracelets that attach to rings on her fingers. The blue-green outfit is accentuated by splashes of red, on the belt, the shoes, and the cuffs of her sleeves. Her wings, which you’ve only seen her spread a few times, practically fill the tiny motel room.

She tilts her head, and the red glasses flash. “Took you a long enough. Was the traffic that bad?”

Your dad is standing utterly still, one arm held to the out as though to shield you from the goddess. But this is stupid, you’ve talked with her plenty of times before. You don’t really like her, but you’re not scared of her, not now.

The Seer sighs. “You really thought that would work, didn’t you? Mr. Egbert, I think you are misestimating how valuable your son is to us.”

Your dad does not respond, and she steps to the side, revealing a small table and some chairs. “Unless you want to talk still half-standing in the hallway, I would recommend coming inside.”

You look up at your dad. Slowly, he nods, and steps forward, but only just enough to let the door close behind him. “John,” he says. “You should stay out-”

“No, he shouldn’t,” interrupts the Seer. “It is important for him to be involved.”

A brief look of pain passes over your father’s face. “Please, Seer, he is only a-”

“God,” says the Seer. “He is only a God.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and your dad pales.

The Seer smiles like a shark, and folds her hands on the carved head of her cane. “Oh, good, I have your attention. Now come in before I start to get irritated.”

* * *

You sit at the table, looking at your dad and the Seer, who are standing. Your dad refuses to sit.

She is explaining your destiny.

“There is a method,” she says, “by which mortals become gods. A trial, of sorts. This trial is only viable for certain individuals, and your son is one of those. Some of my _cohort_ don’t feel that this method should be used, but the truth is that it is both necessary and inevitable that it occur. And, this is the most important part, even though the trial is going to inevitably happen, it is not inevitable that it _succeed_ when it does. Your son may die in the attempt. And for that reason, I have, out of the desire to see this trial succeed, taken it upon myself to tutor your son in the necessary skills for ascending to godhood.”

 “I will not let you put my son into danger.” Your dad is talking back to the Seer. He’s defying her. You know he’s an atheist but this is insane.

“Your son has already accepted his destiny,” the Seer materializes a coin from nowhere and flips it. “It was his choice.”

Your dad looks at you, and you try to stare back as defiantly as you can.

“My son is a _minor_. He can’t be held to this.”

“Well, if you’re going to talk _legality_ , Mr. Egbert, I think you might find yourself out of your league.” The Seer flips her coin. “You will find that there are loopholes regarding divine pacts and agreements in the laws and statutes of every country on this planet, and in those of most other planets within easy reach.

“In addition.” She catches the coin. “I think you may have missed the part where I said that the occurrence of the trial is _inevitable_. In a sense, it has already happened. Surely you know that we gods created ourselves? So it is with John. He has already created himself, and so it is certain that he will face this trial. And neither you nor I nor any other force in this universe could prevent it.”

The Seer leans on her cane. “With that in mind, know that I am here to _help_ your son. If it’s his safety you are worried about, rest assured that I am here to make him immortal. With my help, your son will live to see stars birth and die, watch civilizations rise and fall. He will be praised and worshipped. His potential will be limitless. Isn’t that what any father would want?”

Your father is very still. “How confident are you?”

“I know the trial will happen. I cannot guarantee its success, and chance is not technically under my domain. But I daresay training John under my wings is a decent way to hedge his bets.”

“Has it happened before?”

The Seer is impassive. “Not on this planet.”

“And when is this trial to occur?”

“When John is ready.” The Seer pauses. “You are already thinking that you can sabotage my efforts and delay the trial. You think that if you delay it long enough, the inevitable will not occur.” She shakes her head. “You would not be doing your son any favors, by interfering with his training.”

Your dad looks like he’s about to speak, but the Seer interrupts again. “You cannot outrun me, outwait me, or outwit me, Mr. Egbert. Please don’t hurt yourself or John by trying.”

Your father straightens. “I have conditions.”

The Seer smiles. “You are in no position to make demands, Mr. Egbert. All the same, I am willing to let John stay with you, and allow you to remain a family unit. I am willing to provide education and funds for the remainder of the time before the trial, as you and John may need them. But your final condition is misguided.”

“I will not allow you to keep hurting my son!”

The Seer flips her coin. “Mr. Egbert, I am not doing this because I enjoy hurting your son, much as he might think so. I am doing this because it will help him in his coming trials. Stopping my training would be utterly beside the point. Now, if we’re done with _that_ , you will find that SkaiaCorp has purchased a nice home for you in Calgary. You will be provided with furnishings.”

“Wait,” you interject. “We’re not going home?”

“Your home burned down last night,” the Seer says. “It is good you moved when you did. Not all the gods are as good at tracking as I am.”

Your father slowly sinks into a chair. His expression is taut, lips pulled tight.

“I am glad we reached this understanding,” says the Seer. “Feel free to stay in this motel as long as you wish, but your new home will be waiting for you when you come out. And John,” she turns to you. “I hope you brought your hammer with you. We will be resuming our lessons tomorrow.”

She leaves, folding her wings to fit through the doorway. Your father opens his bag and takes out his pipe. He lights it, and smokes silently for several long minutes.

Then he reaches over and hugs you hard, compressing your ribs. He smells of tobacco and very faintly of cake.

And all you can think about is that your computer was in your house, and all your movies.

This is going to suck.

* * *

You stay in the motel for much longer than your father originally paid for. You strife with the Seer in the parking lot, and attempt to play psion chess in your tiny room. Your dad applies ice packs to your bruises, and tries to clandestinely give you hints about the chess until the Seer shoos him away.

When you are not with the Seer, you are bored out of your mind. You didn’t bring any books with you, or magazines or _anything_. The TV in the room is lame, but you watch it for hours with nothing better to do. Your dad won’t take you into town, won’t let you leave the motel. The Seer must have put the fear of Gods in him.

One day, your dad comes back from shopping. You watch as he takes out a small framed print of a clown and props it up on top of the TV, right next to grandma’s cookie jar of ashes. He smiles at you, his eyes sad, and you look away.

You are slowly going insane.

* * *

The cane swipes overhead, and you duck and strike at the Seer’s knees. She jumps back and strikes low, before whipping up the cane and bashing your chin. Your teeth clack together and you reel back. You hope your teeth didn’t crack. She doesn’t usually aim for the face.

But you’re still standing, so the strife is still on. She strikes for your belly, and you answer without thinking, directing your blow not at _her_ , but at her cane.

The cane is only light wood, and it splinters.

The Seer holds the broken cane for a moment, then grins wryly. “Not a bad idea, shortening my reach. But now the end is _sharp.”_

That’s not good. “What? You’re not going to…”

“Are you certain?” Her voice is low. “How can you be sure of what your enemy will or won’t do?” She takes a step forward. “How can you be sure you haven’t bitten off more than can fit down your throat?”

“We’re not enemies, gosh! That’s not why you’re even here!”

“Are you certain?”

“I don’t know!” Your teeth hurt and your chin is bleeding a little and you’re losing your temper. “How am I supposed to know what I’m supposed to do? I can’t beat you!”

“That’s a defeatist attitude, John. How unlike you. What’s wrong?” She takes out a coin, and flips it. Is she done strifing, for now?

“Are you really asking what is wrong?” You gesture angrily with the hammer. “You should know; you know everything!”

She flips the coin. “John, whether or not you are frustrated, bored, or lonely must have no bearing on your martial ability. An enemy will take advantage of you, when you are weak.” She lifts the broken, sharp-pointed cane. “Defend yourself, John.”

But you’re not looking at her. You’re looking at the coin. She’s still flipping it, even as she steps forward to strife. Is this some kind of handicap on herself, to make up for the sharp cane?

You decide to strike first, and she blocks it, unerring as usual. She strikes, and you move to block, but of course it’s a feint, and then the sharp end of the cane rips your sleeve. She’s playing with you, not even breaking skin.

She flips the coin, you strike, she blocks, one-handed. Even with the handicap, she outclasses you in every way.

The coin lands, face-up, and an odd impulse occurs to you. You strike left, and she blocks.

She flips. The coin lands, face-down, and you strike right. She blocks.

You watch the coin as you strife, giving the Seer a lesser degree of attention. She rips your pant leg, your shirt collar, then scratches a shallow cut on your forearm. Face-up. Left. Face-down. Right. Face-down. Right.

Face-up. Left, and she _falters._

Face-up. Left, block.

Face-down. Right, and you-

The sound is a dull thud traveling up your arm. And the Seer drops her cane, cradling her hand where you hit her.

“Shit.” You say. “Shit, gods, Seer, I’m sorry-”

She lifts her head, then bares her teeth in something that can’t possibly be a smile, can it?

“Don’t apologize.” She reaches for the cane with her other arm. “Let’s see if you can do that again.”

Your arms are shaking from exhaustion. This is probably the longest strife you’ve had yet. And now she’s not flipping the coin, how can you-

You strife, she draws more blood, shallow cuts and splinters, you’re faltering, hoping she just ends this without poking your eye out. You wonder whether she thinks you deserve that, for landing a hit on her.

There is a strong breeze going, and the Canadian flag is flapping in the wind. You decide to use it as an ersatz coin. If it’s flapping toward you, left, if it’s flapping away, right.

You strike left, left, left, right, right- and strike the goddess in the breastbone with a wet smack.

She staggers back, coughs, gasps. Then, she _laughs_.

“Oh! Gosh, oh fuck, are you okay?” You are freaking out. This is not okay.

Her laughter turns into coughing. “Go back inside, John,” she croaks. “Good work today.”

“Will you be-” You do not feel good about this. You can’t just leave her sitting in the parking lot with possibly broken ribs!

“GO 1NS1D3.”

She hasn’t used the Tinge on you since you first met. You go inside.

* * *

It’s only that night, after your dad has put unnecessary bandages on all your cuts (which really aren’t that bad), while you’re lying awake in bed, that you realize she’s never said ‘good work’ to you before.

* * *

You don’t see the Seer for two days. Your dad buys another clown picture, and hangs it over the hide-a-bed. This motel room is starting to make you sick.

You are planning your escape.

By which you mean, you are _not_ planning it. You know her weakness, now. She knows what you think, and what you choose. But she doesn’t know what you _don’t think_ and what you _don’t choose_.

So you’re not going to think. You are not going to plan, you are not going to prepare, and you are going to leave your route up to chance. You are going to flip two coins, whenever you reach an intersection. Head-Head, you go right. Tail Tail, you go left. Head-Tail, you keep straight.

You can’t tell your dad. He’d probably try to stop you. But he’s recently bought an EZ Bake oven and keeps trying to make muffins, so you can probably sneak out without him noticing.

* * *

You are leaving the room. Your dad should be busy with late-night baking, so you’re fine, you’ll be-

“Son.”

 _Shit._ What is he doing out in the hall?

“Dad?” you ask. “What are you doing out here?”

Your father smiles, and lifts a plastic bag. “I didn’t get quite enough chocolate at the store. I could have gone back, but I thought, ‘The vending machine has chocolate bars. I'll just get those.’ And that's what I did.”

“Oh.” You shove your hands in your pockets and fiddle with your two coins.

Your father holds his hand out, proffering a chocolate bar. “I got an extra one for you.”

“That’s okay, Dad. I am not hungry.” You’re really not. Your stomach is fluttering and you don’t feel at all like eating.

Your father wiggles the bar. “Chocolate is good for your heart, you know.”

You snort. “Pff. Yeah right.”

“It’s scientifically proven. Are you going to argue with science?”

“Dad, I’m _fine._ ” How are you going to get out of this?

“It’s also scientifically proven that kids your age argue with their parents whenever possible.” Your dad is still smiling, but the expression is slightly more melancholic than before. “John, take the chocolate.”

You give your father your most skeptical look, and he sighs.

“You can talk to me, you know. That’s what I’m here for.”

Oh crap. Not another _Talk._ This is not what you need right now. Time to parry the conversation. “What is there to talk about?”

Your dad reaches forward to touch the scab on your chin from the recent strife.

“Maybe stuff like that,” he says. “Or maybe the bruises that don’t show on your skin”

You step back, avoiding his hand and taking your hands out of your pockets to shield yourself. “There is nothing to talk about. You know what’s going on now.”

Your dad frowns. “It’s not healthy to keep these things bottled up inside. Talking about it can help. There is nothing worse than being hurt and thinking you’re all alone. I know. When your grandmother died, I thought I was alone.”

You squirm uncomfortably. You don’t want to talk about Nanna.

“I know this must be hard for you, Son. Kids aren’t meant to deal with things like this.”

You mumble; “I can handle it,” and your father affixes you with a Look.

“Dad, what do you expect me to say?” You are getting irritated now. “There’s nothing to talk about, everything’s normal!”

Your father leans back and folds his arms. “Oh, I didn’t realize you came from the kind of world where interacting daily with a goddess is normal.”

You are pretty sure that is exactly the kind of world you are from, but you don’t say that, and instead groan in exasperation. “Augh, it’s, look, talking to her is no big deal. That is not a problem.”

“And the fighting?” Your father’s voice is quiet.

“That is not a problem either. It’s nothing.” You are lying, and from the way your dad is looking at you, you’re beginning to wonder if the Seer isn’t the only mind reader around.

“Son.” Your father leans down, looks you in the eye. “She drew blood on you. That’s not nothing.”

 _He’s right_. And with that thought, the first of your barriers falls. You look to the side, away from him, at the cheap floral print wallpaper of the motel. “I… think I might have hurt her.”

Your father puts down the plastic bag, then reaches into it and takes out another chocolate bar, adding it to the first. “Well done.” Then, he puts a hand on your shoulder, gently, to not aggravate the bruising. “But if this is bothering you, then we should talk about it.”

Argh. You _knew_ you shouldn’t have said anything. You are STUPID STUPID.

“I’m not bothered,” you say, chewing on your lower lip.

“You are bothered.”

“Dad, I'm _not_.”

Your dad fixes you with another Look, one that is so protective, and understanding, and loving, that your next barrier collapses.

“No, it's just... I dunno, it is weird and strange and I don't know how I'm supposed to act or feel. At all. I do not know what I am supposed to do. Argh. It's like, I don't know. It's dumb. I just can't figure out what she wants from me.” You lower your voice, not even sure if you should be saying this next part, hoping that she can’t hear you thinking it. "I don’t really like her. And I do not think she wants me to like her. But I didn't like hurting her, either."

Your father gestures vaguely near his face, and you get the feeling that he’d like to have a pipe there. “Well. At least I don’t have to worry about my son getting a crush on a goddess.”

“Dad, _please._ I am serious.”

“I’m serious too. You don't understand, being a kid, but that would be a real headache. Who would you ask for a blessing, for one? Does she even have a father?”

You roll your eyes so far back that your eyeballs hurt. “ _Okaaaaay_ , Dad!”

Your dad is grinning like a cat. “At least fall in love with a regular alien, if you decide to go that route. They might have funny numbers of eyes and arms, but at least I would know what to do when the in-laws are over.”

“DAD.”

“SON.”

You make an exasperated gesture towards your father. “What do you want from me?”

He abruptly stops smiling. “I want you to be happy. And I will defy any god who stands in the way of that.”

“Well, that sure didn't make a difference with the Seer!” you snap. It comes out a lot harsher than you meant it to, and you can see immediately that your father is hurt.

“You’re right,” he says, softly. “I’m sorry, John. I failed you.”

That makes you really uncomfortable to hear, and you put your hands back in your pockets. “It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize. I’m just saying, it probably doesn’t matter what you do to try and stop her, she’ll do it anyway.”

“Maybe she lied,” says your father. “It’s been known to happen. Maybe it’s not inevitable, this thing she is training you for.”

“Maybe.” That’s what you’re banking on. Especially since now you know that… “She doesn’t know everything.”

Your dad arches a brow. “Oh?”

You nod. “Yeah. That’s how I hurt her. I found something she could not predict.”

“A blind spot, you could say?” your Dad proffers, and you groan. “And what is this ‘something?’”

You pause. You can’t afford to let your ace slip from your sleeve. “I don’t want to say it out loud. Or even think about it a lot.  It is all I have right now.”

Your dad makes that gesture again, like he’s reaching for a pipe. “I see. So what are you planning to do, if you can’t think about it?”

You clutch the coins tightly in your pockets. You could lie to your dad, but at this point you just… really want someone on your side. You are _so_ lonely.

“I’m going to run.” And, at the shocked look on your dad’s face, you continue hurriedly, wanting to explain, not giving him the chance to scold you for being stupid. “I feel like I have to. She hasn't been back in a few days, so now's my chance. And anyway, like you said, since she doesn't know everything, maybe she's wrong about the trial, too.”

Your dad looks solemn. “John, is that what you were going to do, when you bumped into me?”

You look away, “No. I mean, yes.”

“Weren’t you going to bring anything with you?”

“I… didn’t want to think too much about it.”

You glance back at your dad. His lips are sealed tight, but his eyes look soft, almost sad. Isn’t he going to punish you? Send you back into the motel room?

Then, he whips out his wallet, and hands it to you.

“Dad?”

“Use the credit cards only if you absolutely have to. They could use them to track you, so use the paper money for what you need. You have five thousand dollars in cash. Budget it.”

You take the wallet, eyes wide. You didn’t know what you expected, but it sure wasn’t this. “Dad???”

Your dad is grabbing you by the shoulders, marching you forward. You don’t push back or resist, absolutely flummoxed. He’s still talking. “Don’t withdraw more than a thousand dollars at one location. Don’t go into any churches. Don’t talk to anyone wearing a sigil.”

You are outside the motel, in the parking lot. Your dad turns you around and hugs you, squeezing your shoulders so hard it would hurt even without the bruises.

He lets go of you, not waiting for you to hug him back. “Now go.”

You don’t have time to say anything, no thank yous or goodbyes. He’s already gone into the motel. You’re holding his wallet in one hand, your coins in the other.

You nod, breathless, even though he can’t see it. Then you turn, and run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor changes have been made to this chapter to clarify the fate of Nanna's ashes.


	5. Luft

You don’t go far, before you stop to flip your coins, and turn right. At first you’d thought you’d flip at every intersection, but then it occurs to you that doing so would be too regular and predictable, so you just flip whenever you feel like it.

You don’t plan, you don’t think about what you’ll do as the night wears on, where you will sleep, or what you will eat tomorrow. You just walk, one foot after the other, wandering as the coins direct you.

Your feet hurt. Walking sucks.

* * *

You wander through town, then along the berm of the highway for hours without coming to a single intersection, then down a country road, and by around 3:30 in the morning you’re in some kind of field. You’re walking in compete darkness with only the fireflies and crickets for company, and you began to think that maybe this might not have been a great idea.

At around 5 in the morning, you’re so tired that you’re seriously considering just lying down and sleeping on the grass even if a coyote does come and eat you. Then you literally stumble face-down into a ditch.

 _Maybe I should just stay here_ , you think groggily.  _Maybe I’ll die in a ditch. That’d show her_.

But you don’t. You manage to clamber out of the ditch, getting completely covered in mud as you do. But no sooner have you done so then a blinding light hits you in the face from above.

You lift up a dirt-covered hand to shield your eyes, and gasp stupidly. “Wha?”

For a few seconds, you think it’s a spaceship. You’ve seen them before, videos of them, pictures, .GIFs online. Toys. But it’s not a spaceship. It’s a helicopter.

The wind is whipping around you, nearly blowing you over as you stand there like a deer in headlights. It feels like you’re in the middle of a mini-hurricane.

The helicopter is sleek and shiny in the glow of its red and blue lights, and it lands only a few yards away. The letters “CEO” are emblazoned on its side, and a logo that looks sort of like a blocky house.

You just stand there like an idiot as the door opens and two people step out: a large man and an alien of some sort. They both look at you expectantly.

Maybe you’re just tired, but you have no idea what the fuck is going on.

“John Egbert?” says the large man, and you nod dumbly. He jerks his thumb at the interior of the helicopter. “Boss wants to see you.”

The alien reaches forward and ushers you in. You don’t really resist, but you do look curiously at the alien as you pass (him? her? them?) it. You don’t see a lot of aliens in Maple Valley, as they usually stick around the major tourist destinations. This one is slender and green and smooth-skinned, with two fish-eyes in the middle of its face, one above the other. It doesn’t seem to have a nose or ears or hair, but it’s got a leaf on its head. It looks kind of funny and not very threatening.

You step into the helicopter. There’s no lighting inside, except for that coming from more than a half-dozen LED screens. There are two big ones in the front, one showing what looks like the news, the other showing an aerial view of a map in infrared. There’s a smaller screen on a mobile arm, and another fixed to the back of the pilot’s seat that’s complete with a keyboard. Both are filled with code. There’s a screen on a tablet propped against an empty seat, showing a cartoon on mute, and another discarded on the floor that’s open to some kind of video game on pause. The last screen is the smallest, a smartphone held by the other occupant of the helicopter.

He’s completely disheveled, he’s wearing a wrinkled-looking robe in dark green and black, he’s skinny, and he kind of smells like he hasn’t bathed in a while. But he’s only the second god you’ve ever met, and you’re also severely exhausted, so you’re suitably impressed.

He’s talking into a headset, and doesn’t even look up from his phone when you come in.

“Yes, I know the uranium strike is entering its ump _teenth_  year, what I’m telling you is that it doesn’t matter…. Import more workers from off-world, my god…. Yes, that’s an expression you  _fuckwad_ …. I’m very aware of what’s at stake, I’m telling you that energy infrastructure isn’t something we can compromise….Yes, that’s right….I don’t care. Give them Dolphin drips if they aren’t getting the rest they need. Half a brain is better than none…. Fucking hilarious. You lot think I pay you to be comedians?”

“Uh,” you say, and stifle a yawn. “Are you the Mage of Doom?”

“I swear, I give you way above your pay grade if that’s the best you can blubber out- hold on a second, FD, I’ve got someone on the meat-line.”

Only he says it  _thwear_  and  _thecond_ and  _thomeone_. The god of Doom  _lisps_ , and you’d maybe smile about that if you weren’t so tired

And maybe if he wasn’t looking so irritated. He keeps glancing down at his phone, texting between every other word. “What do you want, kid?”

You blink in confusion.  _What do you want?_  HE is the one who just invited YOU into his helicopter, not the other way around!

You say “huh?” and stare at him kind of stupidly. He groans. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

And then he goes back to talking to ‘FD.’

You sit down on the empty seat next to him, not sure what else to do. You glance at the cartoon playing on the tablet. Oh man, Squiddles, you remember watching that when you were a little kid. But you’re too old for cartoons now.

After a many long minutes, the god of Doom hangs up. “Okay,” he says again, still texting. “You might be hard of hearing, or maybe stupid, so I’ll ask again. What do you want?”

You try to think a little harder this time. You think maybe you get it. “I guess that I want to get away from the Seer.”

The Mage snorts, almost giggles. “Good luck with that, kid. We can’t always get what we want. Anything else?”

You really think, this time.

“I… maybe would like to go home?”

“What is it about home that you miss?” The god’s eyes, mismatched and glowing in the dark helicopter, are almost like dual LED screens on their own.

“My friends, I guess? The ones I met at church?”

The god blinks, and the lights in his eyes flash off, then on. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The two (are they bodyguards? henchmen? pilots?) people in suits climb into the helicopter, and it shudders to life, taking off with surprising smoothness.

The god is talking on the phone again, this time to someone named “FF.” You tune him out. You think that maybe you should ask where you’re going, but you’re feeling tired and sullen and you don’t really care. You’re kind of half-asleep for most of the ride.

When you land, it’s not in front of the motel. It’s a normal house in Calgary. Outside, your dad is waiting.

You step out of the helicopter, and the Mage of Doom places a hand over the receiver of the headset and calls out to you; “Give Terezi my regards.” Before you can ask who that is, the ‘copter takes off again, droning.

The sun is rising. You’ve been up all night.

You turn away from your dad, your face burning in shame. You didn’t make it. You didn’t even manage to run away properly.

“Son.”

Your dad’s voice is quiet, and it sounds… you glance at him quickly. He looks like he’s been crying. But your dad doesn’t ever cry, so that’s preposterous.

“Dad?” you ask, and he hugs you, tightly.

“You were very brave, Son,” he whispers, and brings you inside. You’re too tired to fight it.

The Seer is inside, in the living room. She looks completely uninjured. She’s smiling.

“Good job, John,” she says. “Very, very good. You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You glance down at your feet. You are totally covered in mud, wow. Like, you look like a mud man.

“Look at me, John.”

You look at her. She is completely at ease. “This house is your house, now. No need to thank me.” She leans forward, and rests her hands on her knees. “Consider it a gift, and some measure of recompense.”

“Thank you, Seer,” says your father, his voice flat.

The Seer tilts her head at you. “John, for you I have a very  _special_  gift, as well.” She motions, and now she’s holding a…

It’s a laptop. Nothing too fancy, but it’s the newest model, and it’s a  _laptop_. You are absolutely  _itching_  to get your hands on it.

“All your favorite movies and software are already downloaded,” she says. “Of course, you are free to add more.”

You are speechless. You want to go sleep, maybe forever, but you haven’t had any computer access for weeks, and there is a  _brand new laptop_.

“I don’t understand,” you say. “This makes no sense. Why are you  _happy_  with me?”

“John,” the Seer smiles. “Why would I have revealed my weakness to you if I didn’t want you to take advantage of it? Now, take the laptop.”

You take the laptop, and your dad gives your shoulder a squeeze. “Thank you, Seer,” you say, with only slightly more emphasis than your father.

She smiles. “You can call me Terezi, John. That’s my real name. Remember, we’re not enemies. I’m here to help you.”

And she leaves.

Your father squeezes your shoulder again, and you try not to flinch when it aggravates a bruise.

“Next time,” he says. “Hit her harder.”

* * *

It’s not that you believe the Seer… believe Terezi, not entirely. You’ve figured out that she’s trying to manipulate you. You just don’t know what she’s trying to manipulate you to _do_ , exactly.

And it’s not like you believe your dad completely, either. You don’t think that Terezi is going to kill you. She could have done that TONS of times already, but she hasn’t. And she doesn’t want to just keep hurting you forever, either. If she did, why would she give you a laptop? Man, you missed computers.

The first thing you do is go to set up Pesterchum, since Anna must have thought you died or something, and you’re pretty sure you can just up and tell her the truth, now.

But Pesterchum is already set up. You try to log in, but you can’t. Your account isn’t logging you on, so you try setting up a new account. This time, it works. Your new chumhandle is  _ectoBiologist_ , because for some reason  _ghostlyTrickster_  won’t work.

You see that your new  _ectoBiologist_  account has three friends loaded automatically.  _turntechGodhead. gardenGnostic. tentacleTherapist._  Weird. Is this someone else’s laptop?

gardenGnostic is pestering you.

\-- gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 6:45 --

[GG]: hi john!

[GG]: i know you don’t know me, but i know all about you!

[GG]: okay, not _all about_ , because that would be a lot, and maybe kind of creepy, but i know some things!

[GG]: youve been talking to gods, right?

[GG]: well, me too! theyre my friends!

[GG]: anyway, let me know when you get this message! i cant wait to get to know you!

[GG]: you got the computer already, right?

[EB]: hi?

[GG]: hi!

[GG]: :)

[GG]: :D

[GG]: john !!!!!

[EB]: you know my name?

[GG]: well, yeah! youre one of us!

[EB]: us??? what is going on, i am so confused.

[GG]: yeah, john! we’ve been waiting for you!

[GG]: me and TT and TG!

[GG]: sorry, this is just so exciting, and im the only one here to greet you!

[GG]: the others are missing out, lol!

[GG]: okay, let me start over.

[GG]: we have been chosen, all four of us, to be gods in a new universe!

[GG]: and i know you have been lonely. i was lonely too, but you dont have to be!

[GG]: we are here for you.

[EB]: wow this is a lot to take in

[EB]: i did not know there was anyone else.

[EB]: so you have been training with the seer too?

[GG]: oh, terezi comes by sometimes, but i mostly work with feferi and sollux!

[EB]: oh ok. i do not know who those are, but ok.

[GG]: witch of life and mage of doom :)

[GG]: and its nice, but i am so excited to meet other humans!

[GG]: tell me about yourself!!

You end up talking with gardenGnostic, who reveals her name to be Jade after only an hour or so of chatting, for most of the morning. You haven’t slept in over 24 hours, and you feel high and jazzed on sleep deprivation. You don’t have to sleep. You can do  _anything_.

And when they get online later, you talk with tentacleTherapist, and turntechGodhead as well as Jade, all day long, until you literally,  _literally_  fall asleep on your keyboard at about 4pm. You wake up only briefly to your dad putting a blanket around your shoulders.

Tomorrow, you’re sure, you’re going to strife with the Seer again. She’s going to make you play stupid games and now that she knows you know how to beat her, it’s going to be about ten times as hard.

But now you have someone to talk to. And even if their experiences seem a bit different from yours (you wouldn’t really call Terezi a friend, a mentor, or a guardian), you can share with each other without being afraid. After all, you have the same future ahead of you.

And somehow, someway, you feel like everything is going to be alright.

(you completely forget about Anna)

(and when you do finally message her, she never responds)


End file.
